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Aside from my stint in
the Navy, every holiday season in our lives has been spent in the presence of large groups
of family, lots of family. While this is usually a good thing, we found ourselves in a bit
of a rebellious mood this year and decided to do something different. So we packed the
camper, put Sunny-pup in the truck, and ran away to the North Fork at Myron's lovely farm.
Five hours later we were sitting in our camper by the Eagle's Nest and enjoying the peace
and quiet of winter in the Ozarks.
The winter landscape here is so different from other seasons that I get a strange feeling
of displacement, as if I might have taken a wrong turn and ended up on another world. The
lush trees of summer are leafless, and the hills have become transparent. Things hidden in
July are laid bare and startled. My voice echoes from the hills, and the natural sounds of
wind and wildlife are magnified out of normal proportions.
In only a few moments, all the accoutrements of civilization - telephones, pagers, work
and traffic - are left behind and forgotten and we are ready, at least for a time, to
enjoy life as it was meant to be lived. This is a day to run the dog and take a hike to
the Spring, a quiet spot where nothing intrudes upon the moment, and one's mind can free
itself of the routine clutter that afflicts us.
No turkey tonight, but smoked sausages on the barbeque seem to be a good substitute. A bit
of cranberry sauce on the side lends a festive flavor to the evening. We tend to
accommodate the cycle of the sun when out camping, and we were soon snuggling under
blankets as the sun disappeared and the night turned cold - very cold.
I awoke to a dead still morning and fields covered with heavy frost. Sunny was insistent,
and she was soon running like the wind with Dad lumbering along behind. There is something
liberating about watching a Brittany run. They do it with complete abandon, for the pure
enjoyment of it with no hidden agendas to diminish the experience. We can learn a lot from
dogs if we pay attention.
After a leisurely breakfast, I bundled up and entered the water at Hiburn's Riffle. The
river was quite low and clear, and I knew the fishing - or at least the catching - would
be difficult. I shared the river only with the wildlife and a trapper running his lines.
He marks his traps with a bit of ribbon, and people with pets or small children would do
well to keep them away from these spots. Nothing much happened for a while, but I had a
few hours of action once the sun hit the water. I was using a rubber-legged Stonefly, with
a big Prince for a dropper, making sure it stayed deep enough to pick up bottom
occasionally. My first fish, a beautiful 15" Brown with a deep body, turned out to be
the best fish I would land on this morning. He took the Stone and fought with the ferocity
typical of his race. I released him gently, thankful that I had such an opportunity on a
cold winter morning.
By early afternoon I had hooked five fish. One of them was a big thumper with enough heft
and steam to hug the bottom and deny me a look at him. The hook finally pulled, and he
left me without even a fare-thee-well. The good thing about a fish such as this is that it
gets bigger with each telling. He had to have been a good 18" or better, but who
knows? By this time next year, he may have grown to 20" in my minds eye.
The fish quit on me, and I went back to camp for lunch and a nap. The rest of the
afternoon was spent hiking to Inspiration Point. This is a steep hike, but the view at the
end is magnificent. If you stand in just the right spot the river appears, bracketed by
two pine trees in God's own picture frame. If you visit here and haven't gone to
Inspiration Point, do so. The view is one of the best.
On the way up the hill, Sunny got very interested in something off the trail. She is good
at finding trouble, so I went over to see what doggy treasure she had located and found
the remains of what had been a beautiful buck. His rack was thick beamed with twelve
points, and the animal had almost completely returned to nature. I don't know what killed
him, but nothing was wasted.
It didn't get nearly as cold this night, but there was no moon, and it was black as tar. I
once bumped into a very surprised deer on a night such as this on the McKenzie River in
Oregon, so I no longer venture out without a flashlight. The night was clear, and the
stars were utterly beautiful. I lingered outside for a while to enjoy the celestial show,
then went reluctantly to bed.
The remainder of my fishing on this trip turned out to be a lesson in humility. I don't
often get beaten up this badly by a river, but the previous evening and this morning
proved to be the exception to the rule. I spent a lot of the day with Ryan Walker, a young
guide from the Branson area, who occasionally guides for the ROLF. We spent the
morning swapping stories and flies and not catching fish. The companionship more than made
up for the lack of interest displayed by the trout, and I hope to see Ryan again someday.
This trip was a rejuvenating experience during what had been an otherwise bleak and
uneventful winter. Thanksgiving has a lot of tradition driving it, but the spirit of the
holiday can be experienced in other ways. I am truly thankful for many things, not the
least of which was the opportunity to spend such a wonderful few days with my very small
family, doing what I like to do best.
Sam Tucker
Prairie Village, KS. |
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